muay thai boxing

boys in silky shorts are waiting around casually. only when looking closely is it possible to make out a faint sense of apprehension for the poundings and beatings these muay thai fighters are sure to endure and a well covered up hint of anxiety about putting on a good show of their strength and toughness for their audience.

as foreigners, we pay the 1,500 baht for tickets. farang prices are already double. standard. so we figure we might as well shell out the extra 300 baht for the vip ringside seats.

the twangy exotic music of the live clarinet and bongo player in front of us transport me straight out of the tourist hub of pattaya practically to a new universe, one that i never would have pictured involving thai boxing. if anything the music hints at an atmosphere of snake charming and journeying into an underground aladdin-inspired cave for hidden gold…not that i know the slightest thing about american combat sports to start with, but this atmosphere is already a far cry from the pump-you-up tough guy music and bikini-clad ring girls that i might expect of a typical boxing match.

the first fighters approach the ring in satin robes proudly representing their home training gym. these prepubescent bodies are packed with nothing but muscle. rather than a crowd-pumping self-cheerleading pre-match spectacle, the fighters engage in an enrapturing wai kru ceremony. my only experience with wai-kru being the teacher appreciation day at my kindergarten, this provides more of a comprehensive understanding of these thai religious rituals. we watch as the fighters receive ringside prayers from their trainers, apparently blowing their spirit into their young apprentice to help with the fight, later research tells me. the young boys go straight to their knees and pray in the center of the ring. we watch as one of the fighters performs the elaborate wai kru dance, kneeling in chest-raised exotic birdlike mating ritual positions, wai-ing up and down, and shifting the pelvic weight back and forth in a wave motion. then off to pray in each corner, supposedly sealing off the fighting area from meddling outside distractions and influences. though the show is beautiful to watch, it is clearly for lifting the fighter’s internal spirit and strengthening the teacher-apprentice connection when it is needed most. it is not to humor the audience. i almost feel obtrusive watching the prayer dance.

but then the fighting begins! these first two opponents are only young boys. my maternal worry instinct competes with the thrill of each expertly landed swing and kick as the fight progresses and the crowd of thais gets to their feet in support and entertained enjoyment. our plastic vip chairs in the front row leave just enough room for the sweat flying off the zero percent fat beastly bodies flying around the ring. ooos and ahhhs and indistinguishable thai yells get louder, the exotic fight music gets faster, the hearts pump harder, until the fighters and the crowd near climax, and the bell rings. again and again, the atmosphere speeds, heightens, amplifies, in buzzing swells of collective anticipation. the excitement breaks only for momentary water-dumping on sweaty faces and vaseline-gobbing into bloody wounds. until, finally, the last climactic moment reaches breaking point, and one boy’s now lifeless arm is lifted by the referee for the crowd to recognize their victor.